Never Ending
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: This was supposed to be a simple hunt. Now, they were trapped in a time loop with a murderous ghost after them. So much for easy, right? *one-shot, season 2, hurt!Sam, hurt!Dean, protective!Dean*


_** Author's Note: **__Another story written for another awesome prompt! The prompt is as follows: "The boys are on a case that just won't go right, whatever they do. What does it finally take to break the loop? Bonus: The injuries/illnesses picked up in one loop carry forward to the next for them and start compounding and making it harder to do their job each time." I'm setting this in season 2. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_There's not a soul out there_

_No one to hear my prayer."_

—_ABBA, "Gimme, Gimme, Gimme (A Man After Midnight)"_

* * *

It's always the easiest hunts that go to hell.

The ones where they have all the facts upfront, where they know exactly what they're looking for—those are the ones where the plan goes up in flames and they're left looking like amateurs instead of hunters who grew up in the life.

The hunt this time had been simple—a pair of newlyweds who had just moved into their new home were convinced that they were being haunted by the ghost of a little girl who had died there years earlier. Sam had done the research—confirmed that Sally Matthews, aged 7, died in a accidental drowning—and even managed to find out that her old clock was still in the house and that was the root of all the problems.

All they had to do was find it and burn it, that easy.

If only it had been that simple.

* * *

Sally doesn't want to go without a fight and as soon as the duo enters the house, she immediately begins to try and kill them. She throws books, chairs—anything she could get her hands on—in the hopes of finishing them off.

"Where is this damn clock?" Dean mutters as they enter the hallway, their footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. All the doors on either side of them have been shut; locked, by a supernatural force.

"When I talked to the Shepfields, they told me that it was left on the mantelpiece." Sam replies calmly, thought there's an aura of unease that permeates the room.

There's something in the air—both of them can sense it.

"Sally seems pretty quiet." Dean remarks, glancing around the hallways. Pictures of the Shepfields hang on the wall, their frames tilted to the side. As they turn and enter another hall, the pictures start to shift. One of them has ectoplasm dripping from it. Another has Mrs. Shepfields' head cut off and random scribbles on the side.

"We're getting close." Sam informs him, his EMF monitor beeping furiously.

A child's laugh echoes in the hallway.

_"A child perished today in what is announced as an accidental drowning." _

"And now the ancient radio is playing." Dean hisses. "Great.

_"The victim, seven year old Sally Matthews was swimming with her older brother when she hit her head and became unconscious." _

"Sally?" Sam ventures and Dean glares at him.

"Dude, don't talk to the ghost that's trying to kill us!" He punches his brother's shoulder, not liking how cold the hallway is becoming, how deathly still everything is.

_"She leaves behind her mother, father, and older brother Thomas." _

"Sally, we're here to help you." The EMF wails and Dean's gaze darts behind where a little blonde haired girl regards him with bloodshot eyes. "We can help you move on—"

"You want to play with me?" Her voice is hoarse and almost a whisper. Water drips down from her hair onto the floor.

"No," Dean interjects. "No, we are not—"

"Play with me." Sally growls and the walls creak and the floor seems to shake.

"Dean." Sam cautions, hand outstretched. "Sally, we want to help."

"Then, let's play." She extends her hand outwards.

The clock chimes midnight.

* * *

"Wait," Dean asks as he glances around. "Weren't we just here?"

"All the hallways look the same." Sam remarks, shrugging, though he doesn't seem exactly convinced. "The clock should be ahead, right?"

"Yeah."

They begin to move forward, lights flickering in the hall. A music box fills the air, slowly playing a waltz.

"What do you think she wants to play?" Sam asks.

"It doesn't matter." Dean mutters. "We aren't here to play with a murderous ghost girl—"

The clock chimes midnight.

* * *

They're back the beginning of the hall.

"Okay." Dean breathes. "Now, she's teleporting us?"

"Must be part of the game." Sam reasons, then shrugs.

"Well, let's just get to that clock." He takes a step forward and the floorboard gives way. He jerks back, dragging Sam behind him. "Jesus."

"This house doesn't have a basement." Sam mumbles, glancing down, but failing to see anything in the darkness.

"Well, let's not find out what's down there then—"

"You'll play?" Sally materializes before them, just across from the broken floorboard. She smirks, tilting her head to the side, wet hair dripping down her neck. "Play with me."

More floorboards give way, forming a gap between the ghost and the boys, one that can't be crossed unless they jump.

"Look," Dean growls. "We're not playing with you. We're trying to help you! You know, move on? Go see your parents?"

Her expression darkens.

"Dean." Sam cautions.

"Play with me!" She screams and the light bulbs in the hanging light fixtures shatter, glass raining down on them.

The clock chimes midnight.

* * *

The floor is fixed and the light bulbs are intact.

"What the hell?" Dean asks, running a hand through his hair, feeling nothing out of place. "Sam, what kind of spirit are we dealing with—?" He turns to sees his brother wiping away some blood from his cheek. "Sam—?"

"I'm fine." Sam assures him quickly. "It's just a cut from the glass."

"But the glass is gone."

They share a look, immediately understanding what has occurred.

"A time loop?" Dean mutters. "How can a ghost start a time loop?"

"The trauma of her death, maybe?" Sam ventures. "She has to relive it constantly so she makes others do the same?"

"But why—?"

"Play with me!" Sally shouts, materializing behind them. With a wave of her hand, she sends Sam flying into the wall, his head colliding with a sickening thud.

"Sam!" Dean moves to help his brother, but Sally blocks him and suddenly, she's floating and her fingers are wrapped around his neck, choking off his air supply. He struggles in vain for her icy grip is unbreakable and his vision is going black—

The clock chimes midnight.

* * *

Dean gasps and struggles to catch his breath.

"Easy." Sam soothes, wincing a little bit as he forces himself to stand up. "The loop has restarted."

"Fuck." Dean manages to swear as he sucks up the oxygen greedily, as his heart pounds, trying to distribute that oxygen everywhere before it's snatched away again.

"Your neck is bruised." Sam remarks, brow furrowing.

"No shit, Sherlock." The older Winchester snaps. "She just choked me."

"In the past though." His little brother points out. "The loop has restarted now, so you should be fine."

Realization alights in Dean's eyes.

"The injuries are carrying over from loop to loop."

"We've got to break out or—" Sam starts, but Sally is there once more and before they can even react, she plunges a knife into Sam's back. The youngest Winchester gasps and Dean fires off his salt round, causing her to fade away before he rushes to his little brother.

"Sam, Sam, hey, it's okay." There's so much blood—too much blood, Dean knows—and if they don't get Sam to help soon it would be too late. "Sam, look at me!" His little brother does as he's told and his frightened gaze meets Dean's and with a grim realization, the older Winchesters can see how pale Sam's skin is becoming, how glassy his eyes are.

"D'n, m'sorry—"

"No. No, Sam, don't start that goodbye crap with me!" Dean roars and as he pushes Sam so he can lean up against the wall, he faces the ghost with renewed vengeance.

"Stop!" He roars. "Let us out of this loop!"

The radio flickers on, full of static.

_"—died in a accidental drowning—neighbors—worst tragedy—lifetime."_

"D'n, you have to get out—" Sam's fading and it scares the shit out of his brother. What would he do without Sam? His little brother is his everything, his whole purpose for being, his one saving grace.

If he lost Sam, he might as well have Sally stab him next.

"Not without you, Sam."

Sally's face falls, her eyes darting between the knife in her hand and Sam's pained face.

"I didn't . . ." She whispers, tears forming in her eyes.

"Please, Sally," Dean begins, putting his gun down in a show of good faith. "We have to end this."

"I'm so scared." Sally cries.

"I know." Dean soothes her. "I know, but if you just let me get that clock, you can be free."

"Someone will play with me?" She asks, voice hopeful.

"Yes."

A rare smile graces her lips.

The clock materializes before the older hunter and quickly, he sprinkles salt over it before lighting it on fire.

"Thanks." Sally murmurs.

The clock chimes midnight.

* * *

Dean opens his eyes and finds himself on the front lawn of the house.

"Sam!" He spins around, expecting to see his brother bleeding out, only to see the youngest Winchester standing, not bleeding and not dying—totally fine, as if nothing bad ever occurred.

"I'm okay." Sam smiles sheepishly and Dean comes to his side, pulling him into his arms and reassuring himself that Sam is still around. "You burned the clock?"

"Yeah. Sally gave it to me."

Sam's gaze travels to the house, wistful.

"You think she made it to her parents?"

There's a flash of grief in his voice, of the untold sorrow that he still carries from losing Jessica. It flares up now and again, though Dean does his best to try to help ease the burden.

Placing his hand on Sam's shoulder, he smiles.

"Of course she did, Sam."

And the sun begins to rise on a new day.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I hope you enjoyed this! If anyone has played PT, the hallway was inspired from that. Anyways, please review if you have a moment. Thanks! _


End file.
